


Smoke Alarm Heart

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, F/M, i needed a break from angst town, my first one-shot, probably the first of many, some seriously tooth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4567842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a tumblr post of AUs: "Every time you cook you set off the smoke alarm so you know what I’m just going to teach you how to cook."</p><p>Jemma Simmons just wanted to read her journal in peace. Leo Fitz just wanted to make a frozen pizza. Neither of them gets what they want, but they get something a little better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke Alarm Heart

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first one-shot and my first real attempt at a light (hopefully kinda funny) fluff piece, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to do a series of Non-Shield Fitzsimmons AUs. Shoot me a comment and let me know if that's something you'd be interested in or if you'd rather drop yourself out of a plane than read another of these.

The incessant beeping coming from the hallway for the third time that week startled Jemma from the journal in front of her. She narrowed her eyes toward the hallway, where her fellow tenants were all grumbling and making their way out to the sidewalk. Ordinarily, Jemma was a stickler for the rules, but she was quite enjoying her article and, if the other two fire alarm incidences were any indication, the building would not be burning down. That is, unless her downstairs Scottish neighbor had truly mucked up his dinner so badly that he’d started a full-fledged fire. She doubted that he had managed that, and turned back to her article, waiting for the shrill noise to stop. 

“Sorry bou’ tha’!” she could hear him call to the other occupants of the building. 

“Dude, get your shit together,” her friend and next-door neighbor Skye groan at him. “Or some Lean Cuisines or something.” 

She’d only met the prickly Scot once or twice, and he’d hardly said two words to her. Jemma was unsure what on earth she could have possibly done to make him dislike her. She’d always prided herself on being a fantastic and courteous neighbor; there was no late-night vacuuming or music past 8 p.m. But for whatever reason, he’d decided that he wanted nothing to do with her. 

Only about 30 minutes went by before the alarm started going off again. This time, nobody went into the hallway to actually leave; instead, they shouted varying agitations into it or out of their windows. Jemma slammed her journal shut, swung open the door for #203 and headed for the staircase, not even bothering to put shoes on. When she found #103, she pounded on it repeatedly, not bothering with the proper etiquette. 

“Alrigh’, alrigh’, I said I was sorry,” he shouted. She could smell something burning from inside, and when the door pulled open, the air inside his apartment was hazy. His eyes widened when he saw her standing in front of his door. “Oh. Simmons.” 

She pushed past him into his apartment. “For Gods sake, you are a grown man, Leo Fitz. I am going to teach you how to cook before you burn down the entire building.” 

He scratched at the back of his neck. “You really don’t need t’do tha’,” he mumbles, staring at his feet. “An’ I jus’ go by Fitz.” 

He finally glanced back up at her and bit down on his lip to keep his mouth from opening against his will. Jemma Simmons, his always-put-together-brilliant-scientist-neighbor was standing barefoot in his living room, in a pair of rolled-up blue jeans and an off-the-shoulder grey sweater that exposed the white skin of her shoulders. Even her narrowed eyes and pursed lips looked more casual than he’d ever seen her. 

“Well, then? What are we making?” she asked, walking into his kitchen. He followed uselessly behind her, blinking rapidly in the smoky room. 

“I was tryin’ to make a—“ 

He was cut off from the sound of her startled, and if he’s honest, somewhat maniacal laugh. “A frozen pizza?” she exclaimed, holding up the box. “You can’t even make a frozen pizza?” 

“There’s got t’be somethin’ wrong with my oven,” he argued back, his voice rising in indignation. “I swear.” 

She simply tutted at him. “Oh, Fitz! You’re rather hopeless, aren’t you?” 

He sighed, resigned, and slumped onto a barstool at his kitchen counter. “I’ve got a bloody PhD, but I can’t make a frozen pizza.” 

“Skye’s told me you were a genius,” Simmons said with a light roll of her eyes. “But I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it, what with the bi-weekly fire alarms.” 

“D’you also work at my lab?” he teased, eying her mock-wearily. “Cause I’ll ‘ave you know, tha’ fire wasn’t completely my fault.” 

She raised her eyebrows and laughed before turning around and opening the fridge. “Let’s see what we have to work with, shall we?” 

He shifted uncomfortably again. “Well, ah, y’see, I’m real busy, so—“ 

“Beer, Fitz? Just beer?” 

“I think there’s some siracha in there, too?” Fitz suggested. 

“Absolutely hopeless,” she repeats. “Come on, then. Up to my place we go.” 

Fitz had imagined her inviting him up to her place a few times, usually in his sleep. Her tone of voice in those situations had been slightly less—maternal. He shook himself and focused at the task at hand; his pretty, brilliant neighbor was going to teach him how to cook dinner in her apartment. 

“If I haven’t got a choice,” he sighed, standing up and following her toward the door. “I assume shoes are optional, then?” 

She glanced at him in confusion and then looked down at her own feet, coloring slightly through the haze of smoke in his hallway. “Oh. Well, yes, I suppose I have to say yes. Can’t be a hypocrite.” 

He chuckled slightly and kicked aside the Converse sneakers near his door, following her up the stairs to her apartment. The breath of fresh air when they entered their apartment felt like heaven. 

“Well, the air’s much clearer in here, I’ll give you tha’,” he teased, following her toward her own kitchen. Her apartment had basically the same layout as his own, and he watched as she rummaged through her fridge—and decidedly attempted not to stare at her bum as she bent over. 

“Here we go!” she exclaimed victoriously, emerging from the fridge with her arms full of ingredients. “How about some spagbol then?” 

“Brilliant,” he grinned, clapping his hands together. “Where do I start?” 

She pegged him with a look. “You, sir, will be observing. Maybe next cooking lesson I’ll actually let you touch something.” 

Your bum, maybe? he asked in his mind, promptly looking up at her to make sure he hadn’t accidentally said it out loud. Given that she hadn’t started beating him with the nearest appliance, he figured he was safe—for now. 

“Next cooking lesson?” he practically choked after a beat of silence. 

“Oh well, um, that is, if you’d like,” she murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear and hurriedly setting about cooking. “Oh!” she popped up suddenly. “Would you like a drink? How rude of me!” 

He laughed again at her busy energy. “Your mind just never stops, does it?” he joked. “I’ll have whatever you’ve got.” 

She giggled—did she really giggle?—and pulled out a bottle of red wine from a rack on her cabinet. She slid an opener with the bottle across from him. 

“That can be your job. I trust you can’t start any fires with that. Glasses are in the cabinet by the sink,” she smirked, drawing out another laugh from him. 

“You’re severely underestimatin’ my ability to start fires,” he grinned, making quick work of opening the bottle. He hopped off the stool to make his way into the kitchen, sliding behind her to reach the cabinet in question. Without looking up, she grabbed the bottle of wine and slid it closer to him so that he could pour, then resumes her prep work. He took a sip of it from his glass and scooted hers near her. 

“See what I’m doing here?” she said to him as she began cooking the meat for the sauce. “Medium heat, and only moving it around every now and again.” 

He nodded, leaning on the counter near her as he watched her work. 

“You can sit up there if you’d like,” she said encouragingly, looking at the counter top. “Much better view than the other side of the counter.” 

He jumped up onto it, feet clanging on the cabinets beneath him. He winced and she smiled at him. 

“So, Fitz, tell me about your work. When you’re not nearly burning down the building, of course.” 

“Well, I’m developin’ some miniaturized drones that can each serve a specific purpose on a crime scene or emergency situation,” he answered. “So far I’ve got four of ‘em, but they’re givin’ me some trouble.” 

“Only four?” she asked, cocking her head to the side. “I should think you could have at least six or seven different specialities useful to a crime scene.” 

“Oh, really?” he teased. “’Cause you’re the engineer here.” 

“I’m just saying!” Jemma defended. “What functions do you have so far?” 

And then suddenly, they had launched into a whirlwind conversation, talking over and under one another about the issues he was experiencing with his work. Jemma’s rapid-fire suggestions and solutions were sometimes correct, sometimes completely off, but they bickered and chatted through them all. In the meantime, she continued to work on the food. 

Before they knew it, the food was ready. Fitz had paid little attention and Jemma had been so caught up in their conversation, she had forgotten that she was even supposed to be teaching him anything. They sat down side-by-side at the breakfast bar, sipping on their wine and eating in comfortable silence. 

“I’m surprised we’ve never gotten on before,” Jemma said suddenly. “I mean, I know I’ve never really been your favorite person—“ 

“Wait, what?” he asked around a mouthful of pasta. 

Her cheeks colored slightly. “Well, you’ve never really liked me, have you?” 

Fitz nearly choked in response, taking a large gulp of wine that went straight to his head. 

“It’s not tha’. It’s uh—a bit more embarrassin’, really. I just always thought we’d get on, but I didn’ know what to say to you,” he finally explained. 

Jemma looked at him in disbelief. “Really? I’ve always thought you hated me!”   
He laughed out lout and shook his head. “No, no, not at all.” 

Jemma smiled, satisfied. “Well, I’m glad. I’ve always thought we would get on, too. If you just could stop setting the fire alarms off and interrupting my work.” 

“That’s how it is, then?” 

“That’s how it is,” she giggled. Fitz rubbed at the back of his neck, chewing on his bottom lip. 

“It might be nice if we—if we had dinner sometime.” 

“Oh, Fitz,” she sighed, a mix of exasperated and amused. “We are having dinner.” 

“No, no, I know, I just meant—somewhere else. Somewhere nice.” 

“Oh,” she replied, surprise coloring her features as she reached for her glass and took a long sip. 

“It was—it’s uh—“ 

“I’d love to,” she finally said, cutting him off. He beamed back at her. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Although if you’re saying my apartment isn’t nice..” 

He rolled his eyes and elbowed her lightly.

“Y’know what I meant,” he grumbled. 

He cleaned up their dishes as a thank you for the food, and was pleasantly surprised when she invited him to stay to watch a movie. They talked through most of it, and he was constantly aware of the pressure of her leg against his beneath the light blanket she tossed over them. About halfway through the film, he finally gathered the courage to place his arm behind her on the couch. Jemma looked up at him through her lashes with a shy smile and leaned into his side, setting off a stampede of the world’s largest butterflies in his chest. 

It started to get late, and they both had work early, so he stood up to return to his own floor. She walked him to her front door and leaned into his chest with her palms, looking up at him expectantly. 

Was he supposed to kiss her? They had a date, sure, but did this one count as well? 

Jemma let out a small huff and placed her hands on either side of his face, pressing her lips firmly against his. He grinned into her mouth and he felt her giggle before they were both swept up in the kiss. 

“I should really start more fires,” he mumbled against her forehead when they pulled away for air. 

“Oh, Fitz,” she giggled. She placed one more kiss on his lips and he gave her a small squeeze, dropping a final peck to the top of her hair. 

“See you Wednesday?” he asked as he stepped further into the hall. 

“How about tomorrow?” she said hopefully. Fitz was pretty sure that she could have asked him to jump off of the Empire State Building with the way her lips curved and her cheeks flushed just right and he would have said yes. 

“Even better.” 

He was halfway down the stairs when he heard Skye. 

“Jemma Simmons, you dog! Let me in right this minute, I need to know everything!” 

His face nearly split with the smile spreading across it. If he’d known that a few minor smoke alarm incidents would get him this far, he’d have pulled the fire alarm in the building the second she moved in.


End file.
